


Eight Blows

by Rìgh_Marbh (Righ_Marbh)



Series: Pride of the Summer [9]
Category: Frey & McGray Series - Oscar de Muriel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 06:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20149327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Righ_Marbh/pseuds/R%C3%ACgh_Marbh
Summary: The city is overrun with Freys and Adolphus can’t fucking wait to meet Laurence.





	Eight Blows

When Ian kisses him, it’s as though someone has lit the whole world on fire around him and, contrary to the way everything was before, Adolphus finds himself being pushed roughly into the wall of the corridor and Ian’s hands find their way beneath his jacket to fist into the rough wool of his waistcoat. 

His own hands come up unbidden, tangling in Ian’s hair, and no doubt he’ll get hell for that later, but right now this is the only thing that matters. 

And _fuck_, Ian is already hard against him and this is _not_ the place and it’s certainly not the time when Terry or anyone could walk out and find them but God it’s been years and the thought of stopping is downright blasphemous as far has he’s concerned. 

So when the lights go out and the screaming starts and it all turns out to be a show of amateur dramatics, Adolphus swears blind that he’ll murder Ellen Terry by the end of this if someone else doesn’t beat him to it. 

*

The next few days turn into such an unbelievable clusterfuck that Adolphus barely has time to stop, never mind to try and wheedle some kind of answer out of Ian. 

But something had changed, of that he was certain. 

The night after the party, after that daft lad Dyer had plummeted from Castle Rock, Ian had dropped into his arms the moment the door was closed behind them, and they’d stood like that for what felt like an eternity. They’d gone their separate ways to bed, aye, but sometime in the wee hours Adolphus had woken from his half-slumber to the bed dipping and cold hands fisting into the shirt he’d fallen asleep in.

Over the next few days, there’d been enough small touches and little things to remind him that he’s hadn’t imagined being all but thrown against the wall and kissed within an inch of his life but there was no opportunity to talk about what it might _mean_. 

And then, in the end, they failed and a young lad had died a horrific death whilst they’d been powerless to stop it. The fact that Adolphus, currently lying on his back with Ian’s head on his chest, still felt completely and utterly _victorious_ leaves him with a particularly bitter taste in his mouth. 

“I can hear you thinking.” 

“There’s the craw callin’ the raven black.” 

“My family aren’t leaving for another few days and we have an unfortunate amount of time on our hands.” 

Adolphus, for his part, can think of plenty of things to do with their influx of free time but, eventually, Ian’s exact words catch up with him. 

“Eh, whit d’ye mean _we_?”

“Catherine has expressed a desire for a family dinner and, and don’t think this means she’s got any inkling of _this_, but she wants you there so she can gossip about it.”

His hands drift, of their own accord, to trace patterns across Ian’s back. They haven done anything more than spend that last several hours lying on the settee in the study, fractured conversation broken up by slow, languid kisses that never quite pick up enough heat to push it to the point of asking if they really want this. It’s a kind of purgatory, he supposes, but it’s one he’s content to live in for the time being. 

“Not a fucking hope. I can invent a month’s worth ae paperwork if I have tae…”

“I can find _six_ months worth in your top desk drawer. Don’t you dare talk to me about inventing anything…but the fact remains that if we refuse, she’ll find a way to show up here.” 

“Bold ae you tae assume I’d let go ae ye long enough tae answer the door.”

The soft trail of kisses that Ian pressed along his collar is as good an answer as he can expect. 

*

Except…meeting the rest of the Freys seems inevitable, and Adolphus promises to do his best to avoid it and to do his best to behave if that fails. Except he promised that on the assumption that it would be Ian’s gossipy step-mother he ran into. Not his older brother.

So when he walks out of the front door to find Laurence Frey idly looking around Moray Place, Adolphus only hesitates for the briefest of moments.

Laurence Frey is almost a carbon copy of his younger brother. The same dark hair and eyes and the same disdainful sneer that Adolphus hopes he’s see the last of in Ian, but years of a sedentary job have taken their toll on Laurence’s figure and though he by no means looks weak, Adolphus is reasonably confident he has the measure of him by the time he’s crossed to the gate of Moray Place Gardens.

“Ye lost or something?” 

Laurence casts him a scathing look, taking in Adolphus’ scuffed jeans and battered leather jacket without really paying him any attention. 

“I can’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“Strange folk lurking ‘round fancy houses in the middle ae the afternoon...I’d say it’s my business right enough.” 

The look he gets in return says that he’s got some cheek calling anyone else strange but Laurence doesn’t stalk off and Adolphus knows he’s got his attention.

“If you must know, I’m looking for my brother.”

A glance behind him shows that the gate to the gardens is unlocked, it’s aye needed slammed properly, and at the time of day they’ll be empty. 

“Och, is that whit they’re calling it now? I aye though ‘clients’ sounded a wee bit mair classy...” 

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“...although yer no whit I’d normally except for a rent boy.”

By the time the words sink in, Adolphus is ready for the indignant burst of anger and is already taking the three steps backward into the quiet, well secluded gardens. Frey tempers, it turns out, are easy enough to predict and Laurence follows him effortlessly with a fierce snarl. 

“What did you just call me?”

The gate clangs shut behind him and Adolphus let’s his shoulders and the stupid smirk drop. 

“I’ve been looking forward tae meeting ye properly, Laurence...time you an me had a wee chat about family.”

*

“You are never going to believe what happened today.”

Ian was back early and Adolphus was nowhere near ready. He swept the various bottles of arnica and alcohol off of his desk and into the top drawer moments before Ian burst into the study. His face, at least, was no more bruised than it had been after the debacle at the theatre but unless Ian went straight to bed, his hands were going to be a dead giveaway.

“Oh aye?”

“Hmm, it was the strangest thing. Laurence cried off dinner at the last minute and then Eugenia came running downstairs as though he was dying, saying the fool was refusing medical treatment and I had to come talk some sense into him. Do you know what I found?”

There was every chance that Adolphus could finish cleaning the blood off of his hands if Ian just sat in the armchair and didn’t turn around. Getting the bottles back out of the drawer without making a noise would be the hardest part but there was so much shite scattered across his desk he should be fine.

“Whit?”

He dropped instead onto the settee and Adolphus was forced to lean his elbows on the desk, tucking his hands out of sight. 

“He was lying in his bed and there wasn’t a square inch on him that hadn’t been battered black and blue. I tried to convince him to report it, if only so I could send the bastard flowers, but he did the oddest thing.”

An accusatory silence fell between them and, despite trying to maintain a neutral expression, Adolphus could feel his cheeks heating up. 

“He said absolutely nothing. My eagle-eyed lawyer of a brother who has dedicated his life to being the most dogged, assiduous prosecutor said not a damned thing about someone who jumped him, apparently out of the blue, and left him a bloody pulp.”

The satisfaction of putting the fear of, if not God, then the next best thing into Laurence was slowly beginning to ebb away as Adolphus realised, with regret churning his stomach, that he’d already managed to break the first promise he’d made to Ian in years. 

“So would you prefer roses or something a little less cliche?”


End file.
